


Investment Ventures

by Vrunka



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Shameless PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 02:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18682717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: Outside of this room they refer to these rendezvous as business meetings.





	Investment Ventures

**Author's Note:**

> One of the FOUR pieces I wrote for last year’s Overwatch Kink Anthology. Glad I’m finally getting around to posting it!!

Outside of this room they refer to these rendezvous as business meetings.

Innocuous.

The line, between the two of them, is something like a joke. The Shimada name will never openly endorse a terrorist organization like Talon; there is too much at stake there, even for a Yakuza. The meetings, supposed meetings, are bad enough. Have the Shimada-kai shuffling and whispering and worried worried.

If they knew what was really happening behind these closed doors would they be more or less scandalized?

Hanzo truly isn’t sure.

He taps his fingers against the desk. Real oak wood; polished to gleaming in the low light, and still it is lighter than Akande. Akande who’s skin is glowing just as lovely. A sheen in it. Oil slick. Sweating.

Hanzo moves his hand to trace it down the trembling muscles of Akande’s back.

“You are teasing,” Akande hisses. Craning his head back to glare when Hanzo doesn’t respond immediately. “I will leave if that is all you intend to do.”

The threat is empty. Hanzo knows this; though it shows him how far down the road of desperate Akande has gotten.

“Apologies,” Hanzo says. Mildly. Tracing his fingers over the dimples just above Akande’s ass. The dips in his skin of pure muscle.

A crime he covers it in suits so often. Button ups and ties and business attire. Hanzo has heard from Genji about Akande’s boxing, though he has never had the privilege himself of seeing it. Crimes and crimes.

Hanzo drags his thumb down Akande’s crack to press teasingly behind his balls. It earns him a groan, a grunting muffled curse. Not Japanese or English but Hanzo can tell from the tone it’s not endearing. He smiles. It is a cold and cutting smile.

He gets closer, presses himself to Akande’s back. It will stain his suit, Akande’s sweat humid and warm against Hanzo’s thighs, sticking the expensive material to him. He works his wandering hand beneath Akande’s hips, pulls the larger man flush against him.

Akande, so unlike his business-self, is pliant beneath him. Breathless anticipation that neither of them will admit to.

It would be so easy to slip his cock out and just take. Akande wouldn’t mind—wants it—and Hanzo knows from experience it would be bliss.

But he doesn’t want to give in so easily this time.

So he won’t.

So he won’t.

He grips Akande’s cock, palming the girth of it while grinding his own against Akande’s ass. The bulk of zipper and pants is an ignorable annoyance; especially since it has Akande growling beneath him.

His strong fingers curling on the desk top. The inputs of his prosthetic arm glowing an angry orange yellow.

“Teasing,” he says. “It is unworthy of you, Shimada.”

But he isn’t trying to get away, or doing anything to change the dynamic. He could, easily, could flip them over and take his pleasure any way he wanted. But there’s no fun in that.

And they both enjoy this.

Akande’s cock leaking against his palm, hard as rock and firm and smooth, tells Hanzo that much. It makes Hanzo want to be mean, cruelly teasing.

How far can he take it?

How long until Akande breaks?

He tightens his grip, fingers curling to bracket the spongy head of Akande’s dick, digging his thumb below the crown. The hand job is sloppy, slightly uncoordinated from the extreme angle of Hanzo’s wrist.

Akande grunts beneath him, hip twitching in the grip of Hanzo’s other hand. Torn. Hanzo chuckles, leans down to breath against Akande’s shoulder blades. The salt of Akande’s sweat on his lips, sharp on his tongue.

Akande’s body shakes beneath him. Every muscle telling the story of how close Akande is to coming. How hard he is holding on not to.

Hanzo’s twists his fingers to spread as much of Akande’s leaking slick up and down his cock. He bares his teeth to cut them along Akande’s back, up to his neck, to the junction of his shoulder.

“Hanzo—“

His name bitten from between Akande’s teeth is enough.

Hanzo lets go.

He backs up.

Shuddering himself now, shaking from the intensity of the feeling. The rush of power it gives him.

Akande makes a wordless keen, his body shivering. Denied contact at that pivotal, crucial moment. His forearms flex, Hanzo can see the way his muscles—all those wonderful, delicious muscles—fail him. He lays face down on the desk. Unsatisfied although he has come.

The white trails of it stark and dribbling down the expensive oak of Hanzo’s desk.

Ruined.

Hanzo lifts a trembling hand to his mouth. Sucks the evidence of Akande’s precum from each of his fingers.

Ruined.

He probably is.

He slips that same hand into his own slacks, loosening the zipper enough to fish his own cock out.

Red.

Wanting.

Akande, still so laid out on the desk. Hanzo only allows himself a few indulgent strokes before he returns to Akande’s space.

“You are okay.”

Hanzo means it as a question, but the tone never quite gets there.

Akande’s eyes are closed. His nose wrinkles. That proud face gone slack with pleasure so cruelly wrought. He sighs, presses back into Hanzo’s touch. Greedy for the contact despite everything it seems.

“I am okay,” he repeats after a moment. His hand turns, lifts from the desk to reach back and guide Hanzo’s hips. “I will be better when you are done with this game you like to play.”

An eloquent way of asking to get fucked.

Hanzo supposes he can oblige that.

Still mostly dressed, he leans back to unbutton the dress shirt. It too is ruined, sweat-stained, stinking, but he rolls it off his shoulders regardless. Tosses it off to the side. When he leans back over, hand braced next to Akande’s head, the bare skin on his belly rubs teasingly along Akande’s spine.

“Hanzo,” he says. Low in his throat. Like it is coming from the very depths of him. He has been prepared for this since he waltzed past security and up to Hanzo’s private office. Hanzo knows because they have done this dance far too many times to count.

Hanzo knows because the Shimada-kai have reminded him time and time again that flirting with Talon this way will only get them into deeper trouble.

In this way.

Hanzo pushes his hips to work his cock into Akande’s body. The muscles like steel relaxing around him in a show of sheer will.

In this way.

The Shimada-kai have no idea. They cannot have any idea.

Akande heaves a sigh as Hanzo hips press flush to the swell of his ass. Trouser-tweed leaving the smallest of impressions in his skin.

Hanzo lets his head tip back. Eyes fluttering shut. Eclipsed by heat and strength and unadulterated, uncluttered desire.

This.

This will ruin them.

And Hanzo cannot find it in himself to care.


End file.
